“Did you know that Jose Altuve is batting .535 with runners in scoring position during the playoffs?” (having just read that stat moments before in the New York Times, and despite not previously knowing either who Jose Altuve is or what a runner in scoring position means)

“WHY DO THEY KEEP SPITTING???”

“What did the pitcher do wrong?” (moments after a pitcher was being removed after giving up several run-scoring hits)

“What does this Geico commercial have to do with car insurance?”

“His mother isn’t going to be happy, his uniform is SO dirty.”

“I can’t take the spitting any more.” (before leaving the room to indulge in another Activia yogurt)

For those of you born before the year 1 BS (Before Streaming), compact discs were flat tiny saucers that both held music and served as chewables for backwards-facing infants in your car (covering your copy of “Exile On Main Street” in drool).

They were also awesome. They replaced record albums and cassettes as the average consumer’s music format of choice, with much clearer fidelity that made up for the fact that it took approximately 20 minutes to figure out how to unwrap them from their god damn impenetrable seals of hell after you bought one at Tower Records.